"But I haven't got the key," replied Frank; "uncle always carries it in his pocket."
"Well, I don't suppose there would be any danger if you were to leave the money on the porch. Of course, your hired people can be depended on, or your uncle wouldn't keep them."
Frank thought there was at least one person on the rancho who could not be trusted to any great extent; but, of course, he said nothing about it. He glanced around the room, wondering what he should do with the money, when he discovered that his uncle had left the key of the desk in the lock. For want of a better place, Frank decided to put the gold in there. Mr. Brown took it out of his saddle-bags, and packed it away in the drawer—six bags in all, each containing two thousand dollars, in bright, new "yellow-boys." Then, declining Frank's invitation to stay to dinner, the gentleman bade him good-by, mounted his horse, and resumed his journey.
"Twelve thousand dollars!" said Frank, to himself, as he locked the desk and put the key into his pocket. "Why, that's a fortune! Now that I think of it, I almost wish Mr. Brown hadn't left it here. What would Uncle James say if somebody should break into the house and steal it?"
As Frank asked himself this question, he turned suddenly, and saw Pierre standing on the porch, in front of one of the windows, watching him with eager eyes. He must have moved very quietly to have approached so near without attracting the boy's attention, and that, to Frank, whose suspicions had already been thoroughly aroused, was good evidence that the Ranchero was not just what he ought to be. If he was an honest man, he would not try to slip around without making any noise.
Finding that he was discovered, Pierre removed his sombrero and said, without the least embarrassment:
"Is it your pleasure to ride? If so, I will saddle your horse."
"You need not trouble yourself," replied Frank, rather gruffly. "I shall remain at home."
Pierre bowed and walked away.
"Now, that rascal thinks he is sharp," said Frank, gazing after the Ranchero. "He never offered to saddle my horse before, and he wouldn't have done it then if I hadn't caught him looking in at the window. I wonder if he thinks I am foolish enough to ride for pleasure at this time of day, with the thermometer standing a hundred degrees in the shade? That fellow is a scoundrel, and he is up to something. Perhaps he is after this gold. If he is, he may have the satisfaction of knowing that he won't get it."